


Any Version of You

by whichstiel



Series: Season 14 Codas [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bunker, Confessions, Episode: s14e03 The Scar, First Kiss, M/M, Post-Episode Coda, episode coda, spn 14x03, supernatural episode coda, the scar
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-26
Updated: 2018-10-26
Packaged: 2019-08-07 21:05:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16415939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whichstiel/pseuds/whichstiel
Summary: Dean and Castiel share a drink (and a kiss).An episode coda for 14x03 The Scar.





	Any Version of You

Castiel knew the bunker inside and out.

Sometimes while the Winchesters slept he would read but often he explored the treasure trove of the bunker. There were mystical books shoved into storage cabinets in the library and boxes of frog feet in storage room eleven, sitting behind a dusty hex box full of a jumble of cursed jewelry. There were guns strapped beneath tables, and an angel blade hidden in five different rooms. Castiel could name each angel who had borne each blade; some were friends, some only legends. Their music sang to him softly, but was often drowned out by the chanting energy that fed the hulking gray machines stationed throughout. Castiel knew where every jar was, he knew every book, every box of pancake mix. With the bunker so full these days, it was harder to keep track. There were more people around to move things, more people around at all hours of the night. Though it had been weeks, some of them still watched him warily, so Castiel didn't “snoop” nearly as often as he chose a quiet end of the library table and read until those in his charge arose, or there was work to be done.

Castiel snooped now.

Dean wasn't in his bedroom. He wasn't in the kitchen, or the gym, or the whirring library. Dean wasn't in the garage, tending to his car, and Castiel had blandly asked Veronica if she had seen anyone go outside. She hadn't. Dean was somewhere in the bunker. Hiding.

It didn't matter how many people were living there now, or how often it changed. Castiel could find anything in the bunker. Anyone.

He left the living spaces behind and walked down the close hallway towards the dungeon. The door was just barely ajar, closed enough that the latch pushed into the door frame, half compressed against the knob's spring.

Castiel pressed his splayed fingers against the door and pushed gently. The clack of the latch releasing seemed like a gunshot in the still room. The lights were on, and dim. He could see nothing behind the hulking storage shelves. “Dean?” he asked, though it wasn't really a question.

A silence for a beat. Two. Three. Then, “Hey, Cas.”

Castiel took that as invitation enough. He slipped through the door and closed it again, nearly shut just as Dean had done. Then he turned and walked past the shadowed shelves. The hem of his coat brushed against the wood and metal shelves and the sound of it seemed deafening.

He found Dean sitting at the table wedged between the wide devil's trap and the far wall. Dean leaned heavily on the scratched wood. The unmistakable scent of whiskey filled the air. A cut crystal bottle sat in the middle of the table, and a plain tumbler rested in Dean's hand.

Dean's sleeves were rolled up, though it was always colder in this room. Angry bumps rose on his forearms, lifting the fine hairs there and as Castiel approached, he picked up the glass and took a drink. “Did Sam talk to you?” he asked, turned away from Castiel. His intonation was flat and Castiel winced at the almost accusatory nature of it.

 _As if I needed him to tell me to go to you,_ he thought, and pulled out a chair opposite Dean. “No,” he said simply, eyes only on Dean. “Or rather, he does so frequently--” Castiel was gratified to see a shadow of a smile flit over Dean. “But not about you.” Castiel folded his hands on the table and leaned forward. “I think he's leaving that to you.”

Dean smiled again, that half smile that was half weary-friendliness, half pain. He didn't respond, but took another drink. His jaw worked as he rolled the liquor around his tongue and swallowed. Dean set the glass down on the table again and let his fingers linger on it. His stillness felt like an approaching storm, electric and fierce across a darkening sea.

Castiel reached for the crystal decanter, pulled off the stopper and made a show of sniffing it. “Your favorite,” he said. “I'm impressed that you found it.”

“Yeah, well, some yahoo shoved it in the shelves down here.”

Castiel adopted a look of dismay. “Who would do such a thing? Procure, then hide this where the others seldom go?” Dean looked up at last. His eyes were red, his face pale, but he lifted a brow at that and something of his old self seemed to slide into place.

“Oh yeah? You'd think my room would work just as well.”

Castiel winced. “I didn't think you would want...interference there. Not in your private quarters.”

Dean laughed shortly. “Not in my-- Now there's a way to look at it.”

“Dean. It's been difficult for you.”

In response, Dean took another drink, longer this time. “It's good to see. Everyone here. All the hunters. It's a good thing.”

Castiel watched his face try to twist into an expression of pride. The astonishing thing was, Dean was almost there. He _was_ proud to see the diligence of those who hunted within the bunker's walls. Castiel could hear it in the way he interrogated them about their activities. He was learning what everyone did. Learning their capabilities. There was a part of him, trained from childhood, which would never fully turn off from hunting and he'd directed that part of himself outward to the new inhabitants of the bunker. It was like a common language.

“And you're down here for the view?” Castiel prompted gently.

“Fuckin' loud up there. Even in my room it's--”

“It's okay,” Castiel said. “I understand.” He watched Dean's defensiveness drop a fraction at that. Dean's shoulders relaxed lower, his head rolled to a more casual angle. “I understand,” he said again. “Would you like me to leave?”

“No.” Dean's answer was small in the quiet room.

They sat together in the gloomy dungeon.

After a long quiet time, Dean refilled his glass and pushed it towards Castiel. “Want some?”

Castiel didn't, but he took a sip anyway and rolled it around his tongue. “It's good,” he lied and took another sip before sliding it back to Dean. “Did you know that the tree which was used to make the barrel had been in a forest fire?”

Dean frowned at his glass in interest, momentarily diverted. “Oh yeah? How do you know that?”

“I can taste the oak char in the drink.”

Dean cracked a real smile then and he looked up at Castiel through his lashes and said, “I never know when you're fucking with me.”

Castiel smiled mysteriously in return, then grinned as Dean mock-glowered at him.

Dean set the glass down and pulled his hand away, twining together his fingers to mirror Castiel. “I'm not okay,” he admitted quietly.

“I know.” Castiel held Dean's gaze as he said, “But you will be.”

“I keep...fucking up.” Dean's voice barely scraped above the sound of the bunker's whirring fans, which stirred air throughout the rooms and tunnels. “One impulse choice and I almost end the world. Again. And Kaia--”

“Hey. You did what you had to do and now? Now we'll stop Michael together. You. Me. Sam. And--”

“Cas,” Dean interjected. “What was it like? Meeting the other you? The, uh, Darth Cas version of you?”

Castiel drew back a little, momentarily off balance. He'd gotten the summary of events that had unfolded from Sam and Dean when they'd arrived back at the bunker. There was nothing about alternate universe counterparts of the Winchesters. He considered Dean seriously and felt, for just a moment, the dank chill of the room soak through his coat and soak his own skin with fear. Dean's gaze slid away, like he was sinking down away from Castiel.

Castiel finally said simply, “I saw myself. When I met him, I saw myself.”

“Do you think,” Dean asked, “there's a version of me that isn't-- That doesn't--?” He shook his head.

“If you think there's any version of you, Dean, that couldn't be the best among us, then you would be wrong.”

Dean opened his mouth to protest, red eyes meeting Castiel's.

“If you think there's any version of you that wouldn't spend every moment you had fighting to help people – the people you love. You'd be wrong.”

“Cas,” Dean said in a cracked breath. “What if I'm the...version?” Unshed tears turned the question into a hiss. “What if the darkest part of me--?”

Castiel couldn't take the distance then, not anymore. They'd had such a careful dance, he and Dean. With so much unsaid, and so much undone. He reached across the table and wrapped his hands around Dean's fists. His fingers were cold and Castiel channeled physical warmth towards him even as he infused his words with it. “There is no version of you, no part of you across time and space, that I would not love.”

Dean dropped his forehead to their joined hands, rolling against their knuckles. His breath came out harsh and his fists beneath Castiel were tight with tension. Castiel leaned forward further, so he was half out of his seat. “You are the most remarkable person I have ever had the privilege to meet and the same would hold true in any reality.” He waited a beat and held his mouth just beyond Dean's ear. “But especially here, in this reality. This Dean. You.”

Dean rolled his head then and Castiel could see the tears rimming his eyes and wetting the bridge of his nose. “You are extraordinary, Dean. And if you can't believe it now, I understand but I...I'll believe it enough for the both of us.”

Dean opened his mouth and closed it again and his breath came out in tight, harsh exhales. “Cas,” he said finally. He sniffed, an ugly sound, and then he smiled.

It was a true smile, sudden and bright and completely at odds with the salt and sweat and misery. Every line of him still screamed with tension but he lifted his head and slipped one hand out to lay it over Castiel's own. Castiel drew back a little, and watched their joined hands.

Dean's thumb stroked along the exposed skin of Castiel's wrist and he stared for a long moment, sweeping the pad of his thumb gently across Castiel's fine hairs. When he looked up again his gaze settled on Castiel's lips. His tongue flicked out and wetted his own. “Is there any version of me you would... You would...”

So this was the moment then. Small and unexpected and fraught with layers of pain and bone-deep joy. If that wasn't an accurate descriptor of life, Castiel didn't know what was. Castiel finished the line. “Kiss you?” he suggested and held his breath.

When Dean nodded, Castiel didn't hesitate. He dipped close, used the tip of his nose to find Dean's and slid down until their mouths were close enough that their breath mingled. He waited only a second, ready to draw back at any time but Dean remained there, lips slightly parted like an offering.

Something new colored the air between them, sweet like happiness. Sweet like hope. He lowered his mouth to Dean and warmed him with his kiss.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I'm on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/whichstiel) and [Tumblr](http://whichstiel.tumblr.com/) @ whichstiel. You may also like the Supernatural recap and gif blog I co-write/curate, [Shirtless Sammy](https://shirtlesssammy.tumblr.com/).


End file.
